Crimson Life
by SolarCorona
Summary: Years have passed since the last time I breathed this air. A time of peace? What a joke. They're just waiting for the right time... The time we're at our weakest. When we slip up, and our defences burn to the ground from the inside out, they'll be there to snuff out the light our kind have built up for so long. I have to help them... I have to go back. An OC story with a twist.


AN: Sorry for the lack of an AN the first few days this chapter was out, I was rushing when I uploaded and conveniently forgot to add an AN. So... yeah. This is my first story on the site and my first RWBY fic. The story itself is (hopefully) a balance of focuses from multiple perspectives of certain upcoming characters along with the main cast. I know about the OC-phobia in this particular fandom but there are quite a lot of OC pics that both stand out, and get me hooked personally in the story. After all, if someone wants a serious plot to go on in a fanfic without going full-on AU, he or she would have to add quite a few OCs. This first chapter will have no particular POV but that will change in the future for story reasons.

Anyway, hope you like the first chapter ever written on this site by yours truly.

###

_Go to Earth_, he said.

_It'll be good for you_, he said.

_You can live normally there_, he said.

Compared to Remnant, this place was a madhouse. Sure, there were no Grimm, no Huntsman duties and no Torchwick to deal with. But in all honesty, Arryn did not really see the big difference between Earth and Remnant that would have made Ozpin tell him that he would get to be _normal_ here.

For instead of Grimm, Arryn got petty criminals.

Instead of Huntsman duties, he had to deal with said petty criminals; as a vigilante no less.

And instead of Torchwick, he got what he liked to call "wannabe pimps" forming mafia groups and criminal organizations all over the world. Half of which were not normally even worth mentioning in his head.

I mean, what the hell man? Not cool. Not cool at all. And speaking of uncool things…

Whipping his hand out, Arryn redirected a fist that was sailing towards his head to his left side. As his opponent, a nice gentleman by the name of Dallas, took his time trying to comprehend this action, he spun around and in less than a blink of an eye, his other fist collided with said opponent's face with a satisfying _crunch_.

As he slowly turned back around to face Dallas, Arryn frowned as he found that he had accidentally shattered his nose to the point of it becoming unable to take in air. He would certainly suffocate to death if it was not taken care of soon. A normal person would last 6 minutes at most without air so long as he did not panic. However, seeing as though he was utterly unconscious, that would hardly be a problem. It would take Arryn 30 seconds to fully heal Dallas's nose, and another minute to make sure and mend it completely if it wasn't already. Add on another half a minute to be safe…

"Hmph. Four minutes to take out the rest of these suckers," He muttered to himself, "Too easy."

Cracking his knuckles menacingly, he looked up at the next mugger, Dallas's right-hand man, Kurite. Through his sunglasses, he saw his new target bring up his arms in defense.

Rushing at his new target, Arryn swat away his feeble guard and struck his throat. Swiftly moving on to the next mugger while the other tried to recover from his coughing fit, he grabbed a punch aimed at his torso and roughly forced it behind his assailant before sharply striking the now-exposed shoulder blades. As his opponent flinched in pain, he locked the arm he was still holding onto behind his opponent before chopping the back of his neck; knocking him out cold with practiced ease.

Using the unconscious body as a quick meat shield, he blocked the next flurry of punches coming from the other three of the group. Then, forcing the unconscious body in his grip onto its knees, he sprung off of its shoulders and delivered an aerial roundhouse kick to Kurite's collarbone. But he wasn't done yet. Landing swiftly before quickly leaping up at Kurite once again, he whipped around 360-degrees in mid-air and struck the side of his neck, effectively knocking him out with a well-placed kick.

Instincts kicking in, Arryn dropped down to dodge two punches coming from both directions from the unnamed duo. Placing his hands on the ground, he preformed a handstand and sent his legs whirling around, sweep-kicking the legs of both of the duo in an attack rather akin to a breakdance move. Before their bodies fell too much towards the ground, Arryn immediately sprang back up onto his feet, grabbing one of the two by the collar of his shirt as he swung him around and kicked him towards the other of the two. The force of the kick alone sent the duo flying towards the wall of the alley.

30 seconds... no sweat.

Stretching his back, he relaxed.

Brushing off his black jacket, of which crimson highlights were now stained with specks of gray dust – he was not amused by this - , he turns to the two feminine figures that were huddled in the corner, stricken with a strange combination of fear and awe. However, the latter was not quite as plain to our little hero. 'Must be my color scheme…' he thought. As he strained a smile, he looks away to face Dallas and drops a piece of paper on his face.

No outsider looking in would be able to tell, but in Arryn's view, the paper was emanating a faint crimson glow as it healed Dallas's broken nose. Poor guy.

Having no more to do or say, he stuck his hands into his jacket as he moved to leave the back alley. The ends of his unzipped jacket swaying epically in the wind like some cliché badass protagonist. Not that he wasn't though. He was just missing the cigarette, but Arryn doesn't smoke. He just wore sunglasses wherever he went.

He felt a buzzing in his pocket.

Pulling out his phone, his face paled. 'Ah crap…' he thought as he sighed.

Arryn had set an alarm for himself, all for the sole purpose of telling him that the police were too close to him for comfort and, as he was a vigilante, he would like to avoid being taken in for questioning. Of course, he just _happened_ to set his phone to vibrate for that _exact_ period of time. Noticing that the alarm had rung for the fifth time already made him panic, even if ever so slightly.

Sure he was a "do-gooder" and "protector of the innocent", but occasionally, he would be forced to operate outside the law in order to take down the big guys. As every vigilante knew or will learn in their experience.

This, to our black-and-red-wearing-protagonist's mind, was enough for certain paranoid individuals to bring it up for debate, and in turn cause him to be questioned to prove his innocence. The one problem was that he thought, no he _knew_, he did not have the persuasiveness to convince said paranoid individuals of said 'innocence'. Taking his sunglasses off, he palmed his face at his carelessness and unfortunate lack of persuasion abilities.

He shook his head in his hand. Stuffing his sunglasses into his jacket pocket, he thought, 'If Schia saw me now. She'd laugh her heart out.' He smiled slightly at the thought of her laughing, even if it was at his expense. Sighing again, only one more thought crossed his mind before he set his sights on escaping the police,

'Ozpin _better_ not be watching me _now_.'

The last thing her needed was a lecture from the old man.

It was good news to Arryn later on that Ozpin _hadn't_ been watching him trying to escape very possible arrest. That was with a catch though.

"Good evening Mr. Haze," the man himself greeted, noting Arryn's disheveled attire, "It seems as though you've been enjoying yourself."

Arryn gave him a look. Ozpin seemed to ignore it.

"Have you been over at Ms. Frost's home today?" he continued, "I can only assume that that would be the cause of the…unruly state of your attire."

Oh Arryn could easily see his former mentor's ear-splitting grin behind his calm façade. He knew his old master too well, he was merely trying to get Arryn flustered by implying that he and Schia had engaged in… 'activities'. The only way to win quickly against this man in a battle of heated conversational skill was to deliver a verbal smackdown to the right subject matter within six seconds of his final word; giving him no chance to think up a follow-up statement.

Smiling mischievously despite himself, Arryn spoke tauntingly with his back leaning against the wall, "Nice try Headmaster, I won't be flustered by that anymore. And speaking of flustered, I've been honing my sensory skills lately and I've got to ask," pausing dramatically for suspense, he then continued, "Have the quality of Beacon's applicants dropped lately? I don't believe my batch's First Years have quite left the school yet. Maybe the current Fourth Years have gotten lazy in this time of peace, or has Beacon dropped in quality since you were reinstated as Headmaster?"

A pause.

.

.

.

The two burst out laughing. The old Master-Apprentice duo had finally been brought back together, may God help us all.

Ozpin was the first to recover from his laughing fit.

"It is good to see you Arryn. It seems as though you've only grown to be more observant in these past years." He said, admitting the truth in Arryn's statement, "It has been quite a while, hasn't it?"

"That it has Headmaster. And yeah, though I doubt the quality of Beacon itself would have dropped with you leading it." Arryn cheerfully replied, before he frowned, "Probably just the 'time of peace', huh?"

Sighing himself, Ozpin knew what Arryn meant, "It is quite obvious isn't it? The Core Council has admittedly done quite a good job at calming the masses since the event three years ago. Though I believe you will agree with me when I say that I doubt that it was the best move, for the most part at least for myself. I must admit as well that the influx of new Huntsmen and Huntresses _have _risen tremendously since then."

Plopping down carelessly on the sofa bed opposite Ozpin, Arryn exhaled deeply before turning his head to look at Ozpin, with an almost malevolently angry aura in his eyes, "…Master you had better not be treating them like tools of war."

Catching on to the source of his former student's gaze, Ozpin quickly made to clear things up with him, "It seems as though you and Glynda are of the same mind. Though I cannot really blame you. She was responsible for caring for you in your time in Beacon."

Arryn's gaze became all the more furious at what seemed to him to be his old Master's way of delaying his answer.

Ozpin noticed this.

"And as for your concern: No. Rest assured that I will not make that mistake again. However, while we are on the topic of war…"

"Somehow I'm getting a bad feeling about this."

Ozpin nodded. "You should. Your intuition is rather impressive after all this time, and in this case you would be very right to believe it.

"It hasn't been long since the Fangs have begun terrorizing the masses in their flawed search for equality. But it seems as though their leader is quickly beginning to tire of the next-to-zero progress they have made in that area. It seems as though, in his fear of losing his position, he is becoming desperate for progress to prove to the rest of the White Fang that he can achieve their goals."

"So he's making a move?" Arryn inquired, with almost a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Soon. But not quite yet, thankfully." Ozpin replied with relief, "Within the course of the next year, most likely. But nevertheless, we must be prepared."

"And let me guess, that's the real reason you're here?"

"Clear as day it seems. Yes. I came here to request something of you." Ozpin sadly confessed, "I have conversed with the Professors of Beacon and close friends in the Vale Council. We all agreed that we need you to come back. Back to Remnant, back to being an Elite Huntsman."

Then came a sight that Arryn thought he would never see, Ozpin was pleading to him. He kept it masked under a small look of concern, but Arryn could tell. This did not bode well for him.

Ozpin continued.

"I know I promised you that I would let you rest from the loss of your team but you and I both know that the duty of a Huntsman comes before personal reasons. You must also understand that, you're being here on Earth? I previously planned on stopping your enemies from finding you, even if I had to do it personally, but some have already slipped from my grasp. Where do you think they ended up? Here, on Earth. They are looking for you and will do everything in their power to do so. And when the trouble on Remnant really begins I am afraid that I will not be able to stop them any longer. So come back to Beacon, please. Teach my students the life of a huntsman. Teach them what it means to care for their team. Help them learn from the mistakes both you and I made. Remember ACER."

Arryn remained quiet. He knew that getting the chance to live normally for once, on a planet of regular people, with no knowledge of Aura or Dust's existence, was far too good to be true. He remembered the times he had before coming to Earth. The friends he had, the friends he lost, the family he never got to know, the enemies he made, the struggles he went through and the challenges he had to face with the rest of Team ACER.

'Team ACER… Ceil Ghonas, Ethno Maxim, Rae Ghonas, and their last member? That was me, Arryn Haze, the so-called Leader of Beacon's most elite alumni and alumnae.' Arryn's fists clenched at the memory of his team. They had all died because of him. They all killed each other because of him. All because he could never lead them right. For what did they work so hard to graduate after merely two years at the academy even after having entered two years early in the first place?

Arryn buried his face in his hand, trying to wipe away the memories of his failure. His crimson eyes were burning at the memories. Emotions he had always trained to suppress were flashing once again into his mind. Hatred, sorrow, pain, envy… all of it was swirling in his mind like a maelstrom. He hated himself for not leading them right, he felt sorrow at the death of his team, it pained him that all of them could have lived, but didn't. And he envied the other teams of Beacon, they had not felt the pain of the loss of their friends and having no family to go back to, no one to care for them, no one to console them…

But he buried these memories in his mind. They would come back, memories were stubborn like that, but until then, he had to live. For them, he had to live. Sighing, he glanced back at Ozpin, who still looked concerned.

"Alright, let's say I do it. What _then_?" Arryn asked, his voice soft, "It's not like my enemies will notice me leaving Earth and return to Remnant because of it. Hell, even if they do, they'd still know about this place and use it to take me down one way or another."

Ozpin smiled at that, "Simple. Don't _let_ them remember. Is that not your specialty?"

Arryn actually chuckled slightly at this, "So… scare the shit out of them to the point of making them not dare remember anything about this place?"

"Exactly. You will have about a month or two before I receive the transcripts of next year's applicants." The Headmaster replied, "Call them our… Main Characters. For this generation…"

Arryn shook his head in amusement, "You come up with the weirdest terms sometimes Headmaster. You know that?" Looking out the window, he smiled as he continued, "Two months?"

His jacket flared up with the glowing Dust infused within the fabric. Red sparks of electricity appeared around him as his crimson Aura engulfed his entire body. Eyes glowing behind his shades from the expertly summoned Aura brought forth by the young huntsman, he gave a saddened, but excited grin.

"Too easy."

"So you're saying someone just swooped in, beat up the punks that were harassing you and your sister and left just like that? Can you describe this person to me?"

Back at the alleyway where our protagonist had just been, the police arrived at the scene of the beat down. The area had attracted quite a crowd after the police arrived. After all, it was not everyday people got to see an alleyway piled up with unconscious baddies and a rescued pair of damsels in distress; it was almost exactly like the opening scene of a superhero movie (*cough* *cough*). A cop with a maroon pistol and holster was looking around for witnesses when the older of the two girls approached him to help.

"He had slightly messy black hair, he looked about seventeen to eighteen years old. He wore a black and red jacket, a pair of denim jeans…oh, and a pair of aviator sunglasses so I couldn't see his eyes."

"Anything on how he acted? Like how he moved, how he carried himself, the kind of aura he gave off?"

"Hm…now that I think about it, he gave off a bit of a 'don't mess with me' kind of aura. He stood with his shoulders squared and when he fought he looked confident, but not overconfident cuz he didn't make fun of them. He dodged every hit thrown at him, and always moved like he was some sort of martial arts expert. There were times I couldn't even see him move."

The policeman remained silent in recognition of the vigilante for a while before speaking once again.

"Thank you for your help, we'll handle it from here."

The girl nodded before leaving with her sister.

Another policeman with an orange pistol called out to the first, "Hey Simmons! Take a look at this!"

"I swear Grif if you're showing me another piece of crap like that roll of tissue you threw at me last time I will shoot you! Or better yet I'll have Sarge or Lopez do it while I eat that cake you hide under your bunk."

"Don't you f'ing _dare_ touch that cake Simmons! I've been saving that since my cadet days!"

"WHAT!? That shit's _gross_ man! Wait. So THAT'S why your bunk f'ing reeks! Anyway what do you have?"

"Take a look at this."

The orange-gun-wielding policeman, Grif, held out the sheet of paper that was left behind, "Looks like _he_ strikes again, huh?"

The maroon-gun-wielding policeman, Simmons, took a look at the piece of paper, "Looks like it. Seems like the Flash's been so bored lately that he's gone back to being a vigilante."

"Why though? The guy could've easily stopped fighting anytime. I mean, if it was me I would've quit the action _long_ ago."

"Hmph! Of course you'd say that lazy-ass." Simmons replied, "But you've got a point, why does the guy fight?"

"Well that's one of life's greatest mysteries, isn't it?"

"Why _does_ the Flash fight though? He doesn't ask for any rewards, he doesn't seem to expect payment for his work, he doesn't seem to enjoy beating people to a pulp either, judging from that one time he called the ambulance for the punks he beat into the ground."

"That's debatable…"

"_Shut up_ with that already. Just because he happens to slam a kick into your balls every time we see him, doesn't mean he likes to do it."

"Once again, debatable."

"Quit whining already."

"Men! Front and center! Double time! For Grif, triple time, get that fat-ass movin'!" A middle-aged policeman, with a shotgun on his back and a red pistol strapped to his leg, called to the bickering duo. Simmons replied respectfully.

"Yes sir, Sarge!"

Grif merely grumbled.


End file.
